What's Past is Prologue
by Ladybug.picnic
Summary: The past is not a memory. It's a force at your back. It pushes and steers. You may not always like where it leads, but like any story, the past needs resolution. A dying city needs heroes and even some heroes need saving. A Batwoman/Question Paily AU. Reviews welcome.
1. Prologue

To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there's the rub,

For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come.

-_Hamlet_

* * *

The figure shivers in the dark high above the city. It's an uncharacteristically quiet night, the lack of sounds oddly unsettling. Opaque eyes watch the snowflakes flutter in the wind of the alley and fall gently to the street below. In just a few hours, the city has been covered in a bright white sheen. For a minute, one could almost get lost in the beauty and forget the ills of this corrupt place.

Almost.

Paige sighs and wraps her cape tighter around her. She knew it would be futile. Only fools ventured out into weather like this…but sleep was elusive. The few minutes she'd managed to steal were haunted by dreams of fires and fury, of faces long dead and buried coming to life with words of judgment and blame.

She awoke in a sea of sweat and frustration….and probably a little less of her sanity. More slips away every time she closes her eyes. Why else would she be out here in freezing weather patrolling a city that most agreed was too far gone to be saved?

When she was a little girl, she loved the snow, loved the smell of cold, the fresh taste of snow. It seemed to her that everything could be reborn through the cleanse of white, but now she knew better. It was only an illusion. One that would fade when the sun came to expose the buried secrets. Once dirty, some things can never be clean.

But now, it was so damn quiet, unnerving in a city that never sleeps. Sleep. She envied those sleeping warm in their beds, something she'd long since given up on…too much work for something that invited reminders her of the past. She'd had enough of that to last a lifetime.

Instead she hunts.

She hunts until exhaustion takes her….but apparently not tonight. She stomps her feet to ward off cold and in her frustration, her boot sends a spray of liquid shooting in all directions. She crouches and runs her hand though the snow, feeling the cold through the thick red leather of her gloves. It's something tangible and soothing, pulling up memories of snowball fights and hot cocoa….of a time when she felt safe. Her mind drifts to a story she read in middle school about a man who fell asleep in the snow. _Fucking Jack London_. His death seemed so peaceful; he just went to sleep and never woke up. She feels a pull to lie down, let the snow cover her in its embrace, and allow sleep to take her. It wouldn't be a bad way to go.

The sound of a scuffle draws her thoughts away, a scream cutting through the stillness. Moving to the ledge, her scan of the alley confirms the noise is coming from below. Three men are swiftly advancing on a woman and a young girl. The woman's coat is torn and muddied. The alley is a dead end. There is no escape.

Another scream and adrenaline courses through her body. She feels the fire travel through her veins like a magic hit, making her hair stand on end. Her body begins to hum. Cold is forgotten as she breaks into a run and leaps across the void to the fire escape on the opposite building and lands with an almost silent thud.

One of the men looks up into the darkness to find the source, but seeing nothing, draws a gun on his victims.

"Look at that, boys. Two pretty kittens come into our alley to play with us."

He advances on them and begins to undo the buckle of his belt as he licks his lips. The two others flank him with sickly sweet grins.

A few more silent leaps down the fire escape and Paige is directly above the scum with the gun.

"Maybe you should play with a tiger instead."

Exploding from a crouch, she swings from the railing, her cape swirling behind her. Paige feels a satisfying thump as her boots connect with the chest of the thug closest to the two women, knocking him into the man to his left as the gun slides under a dumpster. The two men let out surprised shouts and tumble to the ground, stunned. Paige lands in a defensive crouch, positioning her body between the women and the remaining man.

She stands to her full height, her cape billowing around her ankles, a shock of red hair blowing back in the wind. Her smile is predatory as a look of panic and confusion washes over his face. "What the fuck are you supposed to be?"

She slowly advances on him, her movements calculated as she backs him into a wall.

"Retribution." she whispers.

In a blink, he pulls a knife and lunges. She sidesteps and twists his wrist, dislodging it from his hand. He recovers and throws an elbow that connects with the armor on her back. It barely registers as she rams her shoulder against his chest, pinning him to the wall behind. She pushes her forearm against his throat until his feet are no longer touching the ground.

"You picked a bad night to venture out into the cold."

She allows herself to revel in the rush of having the thug ready to beg for mercy. However, the sudden shift in focus of his eyes alerts her that something is wrong. Heavy footsteps descend on her and she quickly throws her elbow to her left and feels the satisfaction of a sickening crack. She ducks a punch while taking out the second attacker with a sweep to the legs. She's defused the threat but, in the process, she's left herself open to the man in front. Before she can react, a boot connects with her jaw. The blow knocks her off balance and stars dance behind her eyes. She tastes blood.

He lunges at her, but she catches the knife before it connects with her shoulder. Straining against his arm, she expects the others to come back at her. However, a quick glance around the alley reveals they are alone. "Looks like your friends abandoned you." she growls through gritted teeth. With a swift kick to the knee, his leg gives way beneath him. She rams her elbow into his head, slamming it into the wall behind him. He crumbles, unconscious.

Paige turns to check on the woman and girl, but finds that they too have abandoned her and her unconscious friend. She massages her quickly swelling jaw and spits blood out into alley. The scarlet streak is a stark contrast against the brilliant snow.

"You're welcome," she sighs to no one in particular.

"Freeze! Police!"

Paige is startled and spins in a flourish of red and black fabric. Beyond the barrel of a gun, lays a set of dark eyes scanning her with a familiar intensity….and for a second Paige forgets how to breathe.

"Don't move."

As the figure takes a step forward, the man on the ground groans. The noise is just enough distraction and eye contact is broken. With precision, Paige removes her grappling gun from her belt and in a flash, she is gone, swallowed by the night.

As she moves over the rooftops, the sound of a siren wails close by, but Paige is lost in her mind…haunted by a ghost with dark hair and soft curves. Even exhaustion won't keep her dreams at bay tonight. In her haste, she vaults past an ancient rusted and faded billboard that makes her smirk with the irony.

"Welcome to Rosewood. A Beautiful Place to Live."


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Sorry for not posting sooner..Work, life...yadda, yadda...same excuse as everyone else.

Thanks for the reviews and follows, especially L, saii79, and g-sullivan. They keep me motivated so keep them coming!

* * *

"The phoenix must burn to emerge."

― Janet Fitch, _White Oleander_

* * *

_**Seven Months Earlier**_

The paper of the flyer crunches in her hand as she double checks the address and directions. The walk from the subway wasn't long, but the boarded up buildings in this part of town loom ominously over her and made her uneasy. A former manufacturing hub, Rosewood had all but been abandoned to cheaper labor overseas, the lure of profits just to tempting. All that remained were miles of windowless decaying buildings lining the riverfront like eyeless citadels that whispered stories of a better time.

Being from the suburbs, she wasn't really used to the raw energy of Rosewood. She had only been in the city once before with her parents, but the promise of an adventure lured her in. She was tired of being Little Miss Perfect and this was the perfect opportunity to cut loose. Turning a corner, she sees something in chalk. It is drawing of a long scraggly finger pointing down an alley, apparently signaling the way to go. She turns and moves past cardboard boxes, more than a few with belongings and people stashed inside. It is North Rosewood after all.

A few more steps and she begins to feel the bass of the underground Rave and sees a few people smoking outside an alley door. Moving past them, she descends a set of stairs and is greeted at the bottom by a heavily-tattooed bouncer.

"ID please."

She hands it over and holds her breath. He looks at the photo and scrutinizes her face, a frown curling at his lips. Even though her best friend assured her that she was a dead ringer for the woman in the picture, she wasn't too sure. She smiles brightly at him, trying to act natural.

Nodding, the bouncer hands her back the ID. He holds out his hand. "That'll be 20 bucks sweetheart."

She exhales with sudden confidence. She could be 22-year-old Janice Trager for a night. Removing a bill from her borrowed purse, she stuffs it into a sweaty palm and steps forward through the doorway. A blast of warm, moist air hits her in the face as she steps into the club. The house lights are dark as spotlights move around the cavernous warehouse. Scantily clad women dance in halter tops around the room.

A continuous sea of moving bodies covers the floor. The patrons dance to the harsh techno beat, throwing themselves against one another. Nervousness pulls at the pit of her stomach, a voice in her ears sounds oddly like her mother's. She ignores it and pushes through the bodies, heading to the bar. A set of eyes watches her move across the dance floor.

She orders a beer. Looking in her purse to pay, a set of bills are abruptly slid in front of her.

"Allow me."

She looks up into a boyish face and smiles.

"I wasn't sure you would be here."

"Of course, I would. I gave you the flier. I had hoped I would see you again."

She giggles at his accent and blushes.

"Wanna party?" He holds up a bag.

She nods and he hands her a purple-white pill. "What is this?"

"Just something to set you free."

Swallowing the pill, she smiles and follows him into the crowd.

* * *

The buzz of the military transport sounds in her ears and the heavy vibrations move through her chest and rock her to the core. The metal chair she is sitting on is hard and the seat belt bites into her skin. Even though the airlift from D.C. to Rosewood is just a little over an hour, she is thankful it's not longer. Weeks earlier, she was too out of it to remember the ride from Abbottabad to D.C, and her mind laughs at that small favor.

The transport bay is stifling, and she feels a drop of sweat run bisect her shoulder blades and pool at her lower back. Glancing down, she notices her olive green t-shirt is soaked. Originally, she had been booked on a commercial flight, first class like the "hero she was", but the press coverage of her story had made it impossible to travel normally. "At least _this_ metal cage is well-lit," she jokes to herself.

A loud bang comes from somewhere and the sound sends her heart-rate skyrocketing, her hands curling into fists as another soldier comes through a hatch door to her left. Taking deep breaths in through her nose, she tries to calm her nerves, willing her body to respond. It's not working. As her emotions begin to spiral, she grabs the seat to ground her and the hard metal cuts into her palm. Blood falls from her middle finger to the floor unnoticed.

A voice cuts through the fog and brings her back to reality. The soldier has moved to stand in front of her. "Lt. McCullers, we are about five minutes out. A government contingent will be meeting you on the tarmac. From there, they will take you to have your final vitals checked and then someone will meet you for one last debriefing. After that, you'll be released to your family. Your father has indicated that he will be at the base to pick you up."

Paige nods vacantly as the sudden butterflies of regret dance in her stomach, remembering the last conversation with her father. Unpleasant was one word for it. Years later, she can still hear the disappointment in his voice at her decision. She berates herself for still letting his opinion have any effect on her at all. She wonders what his opinion is now.

The soldier begins to move away, but then pauses and turns back. "Lt. McCullers? Permission to speak freely?"

"Of course, Staff Sergeant."

He takes a breath to collect his thoughts, and then meets her gaze. "I just wanted to say that it is an honor meeting you. It's about damn time The Corps got some good news. Me and some of the other boys, we always knew you would come home alive." He slowly extends his hand.

She grabs it in kind; her calluses are rough against his own. "Oorah." She says with a crooked grin.

"Oorah." He quietly replies before smiling brightly and disappearing back through the hatch.

Her ears pop, signaling the plane's descent, and she yawns to relieve pressure. Glancing out the small alcove window, the skyline of the city comes into view and the sprawling metropolis stretches out towards the horizon. _Rosewood_. She isn't sure if she is happy to see it or if some part of her still wants to stay away. Probably both, but it doesn't matter anyway, she's here and a new chapter of her life is about to start; a chapter that a few weeks ago she wasn't so certain she would get.

Her teeth chatter together when the tires touch down roughly, the plane rumbling to a halt. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she stands and stretches, the air cooling the sweat on her overheated back. A motor whirrs as the ramp on the back of the plane begins to lower revealing a throng of uniformed men milling about. She walks down the ramp and squints into the sun. A fleet of sleek black sedans wait on the asphalt while the small American flags on the antennas hang lazily in the still air.

A man in full dress steps forward, removes his sunglasses, and salutes her. She salutes back, the gesture stiff from disuse.

"Lt. McCullers, I'm Colonel Fields."

_Fields._ The name ghosts over her ears and she searches his face, unsure what she is looking for. Her thoughts race and she feels torn about wanting to know the answer. She tamps it down and forces herself to focus on the present.

"Soldier, it's good to have you home. Staff Sergeant Thompson has informed you of the next steps. I trust the travel was acceptable?"

"Yes sir. It was fine, sir." Her voice is hoarse; the words are harsher than she intended. They sound hollow and foreign, almost as if she is hearing a recording of herself. She wonders how long it will take to attenuate her voice to a normal speaking volume.

"At ease soldier, you're among friends now." The twinkle in his brown eyes relaxes her as he smiles softly. Paige exhales and moves into a rest position.

Taking a step back, he gestures toward the fleet of sedans.

"Alright Lt. McCullers, let's bring you back to life."

* * *

A dark red sports car pulls up to the curb in front a small brick multi-story building. It's unremarkable, just one of the many in this densely populated part of town. A man emerges from the car and runs his hand through thick brown hair. The sky is gray, the forecast calling for rain, but it seems to him that the sun never seems to shine in this part of town anyway. Sighing, he shuts the door and climbs the steps that lead inside. However, before he reaches the front door, it opens and an old woman appears wheeling an empty grocery tote behind her. He shuffles quickly and holds the door open.

"Detective Cavanaugh! It's great to see you this morning. Going to see that lovely partner of yours?"

He smiles, his blue eyes shining brightly. "Please Mrs. Welch, I've told you to call me Toby. And yes, ma'am. Just about to pick her up for shift."

She grabs his arm and he helps her as she shambles down the stairs. "Well good, Toby. She gives him a wink. "When you see her, can you remind her about the rent? She's almost two weeks past due. I forgave her for last months, but..."

"I'll remind her, Mrs. Welch. I'm sure she's just forgotten."

"Wonderful. I knew you were a good boy just like my grandson. You kids stay safe now."

He waves goodbye and watches as she slowly moves off, making sure of her safety before she disappears around the corner.

He enters the building, moving quickly past broken elevator to the stairwell. Peeling paint greets him as he descends the steps to the third floor, where light bulb flickers in the hallway, and he stops in front of apartment. The number 308 greets him cheerily.

His fist knocks hard on the door. It is more of a common courtesy than anything, a trick his younger self learned to do when he wanted to avoid awkward situations. Behind this door, he's had more than a few. Reaching into his pocket, he removes keys and unlocks the deadbolt, hoping that the security chain isn't engaged. Luck shines on him, and he pushes the door open. The musty smell of stale cigarettes wafts to his nostrils as he enters. Glancing down, he sidesteps clothes strewn about the foyer and his gaze follows a trail that leads to the bedroom.

He rolls his eyes and moves to his left into the kitchen. Opening a cabinet, he busies himself, rummaging through the contents. After a few minutes, the smell of coffee fills the room.

He glances over at the table in the small breakfast area. Under a few empty liquor and beer bottles, sits a manila folder, overflowing with newspaper clippings. Most are yellowed with curled edges, relics of a time gone by. Moving an overflowing ashtray, he picks up a few and reads headlines.

**Rosewood Heiress Still Missing**

**Another Girl's Body Found. Serial Killer Suspected**

**One Officer Killed, One Wounded in Drug Bust Gone Bad**

Shaking his head, he drops them back onto the table and turns toward the bedroom when something on the floor catches his eye. It's a white piece of paper, a news article printout from a computer.

**Debutante Marine's Convoy Ambushed; 7 Killed, 3 Missing**

Already familiar with Paige McCullers' story and the incessant press coverage of the past few years, he skims the article, wondering why this old clipping was in his partner's depressing memory lane collection. However, it reveals nothing. Making a note to bring it up later, he puts in the folder with the others and heads through bedroom door.

The room is dark and warm, and it takes a second for his eyes to adjust. More clothes litter the hardwood floor along with a few empty bottles. He can see a faint outline of a lump on the bed. Going to the window, he throws open the thick purple curtains. Dust dances in the sunbeams as the room is lit by the outside light. Toby shields his eyes and the figure on the bed groans and throws the covers over her head.

"God damn it, Toby! I told you I hate it when you fucking do that!" Her voice is muffled by the covers.

"Yeah, yeah, I know Fields, but pissing you off is just too much fun. And really, I think that it's your fault for giving me a key." He glances around the room. "Alone this morning? I expected you to have a better excuse for oversleeping. Although, I guess that is better than the show I got the last time."

"That was your own fucking fault. I called in sick that day."

She reaches to her left, but finds the side of the bed empty. The sheets are cool to the touch. For an instant, a wave of sadness overwhelms her, but she ignores it. Instead, she chides herself for expecting more. Just as well, in the sobering light of day, she couldn't remember the woman's name anyway.

"Since you didn't show up for shift today, I had to cover for you. I told Cap' that you were already at our crime scene since it was on your way to work."

A hand shoots from under the cover and blindly reaches for a phone, knocking a few bottles off the nightstand. The crashing sound of glass on the hardwood breaks the silence in the room.

"Shit. I didn't realize it was so late..."

"Yeah, Em, you never do."

Throwing off the comforter, Emily gingerly gets up from the bed, trying to stem the spinning in her head, but she's unsuccessful and her stomach lurches at the movement. Steadying herself with a few deep breaths, the room settles. She stretches and her white tank top rides up above the waistband of her black boy shorts, her nipples standing in firm peaks through the sheer material. Uncomfortable, Toby looks away and pads back out into the kitchen.

The coffeemaker beeps and he pours two cups, setting one down atop the folder on the table. He sits and waits. A few minutes later, Emily emerges wearing a pair of low-waisted, gray dress slacks, black leather Chuck Taylor's and a crisp white button-up shirt that shows off her curves. A badge and gun are clipped to her belt, while a knotted black tie hangs loosely around her neck. Her dark hair falls in cascades around her shoulder.

Looking up, Toby hands her the coffee.

"Cream?"

"Sorry, I forgot." He gets up and opens the door of the fridge.

While his back is turned, she grabs an almost spent liquor bottle and tops off. As the liquid burns down her throat, the pounding in her head lessens, and not for the first time, she thanks whatever god invented Jack Daniels.

Sitting down at the table, she grabs a cigarette from a pack and lights it using an antique silver lighter. Inhaling deeply, she closes her eyes and feels the nicotine move through her. The buzz helps her feel a little more awake. She blows smoke from the side of her mouth. It hangs in the stillness of the room.

Toby glances down at the folder and wonders if he should bring it up. She follows his eyes and makes the decision for him.

"So what's the lost cause today?" She takes another drag.

Toby waves his hand to dissipate the smoke. "Jane Doe. Committed suicide in Rosewood Municipal Park after threatening a few people. She had facial scarring, similar to the others so she could be related. That's all I know."

She sighs. The parade of bodies never seems to end.

"Also..." He hesitates, trying to find the words. "Commissioner is suggesting a task force. Captain wanted you to head it, but since you were MIA this morning, it went to Kahn."

Kahn is heading. _Of course he is._ Once again, Kahn gains off the back of her poor choices. Why does that not surprise her? Stifling a bitter laugh, she gets up from the table and grabs her gray trench coat and hat from the back of the chair.

He stands and they move out of the apartment together. The flickering light bulb has gone out, throwing the hallway into shadows.

"By the way, I saw Mrs. Welch downstairs. Your rent is late again. I'm assuming you just forgot."

"Yeah, thanks. I'll take care of it."

As they move down the stairs and through the front door, the overcast sky opens up, heavy raindrops pelting the concrete.

He pauses in the doorway, watching the water pool in a curbside drain clogged with garbage.

"Em, I don't understand. The department salary isn't exactly minimum wage. Why don't you move someplace a little nicer?"

She puts the gray fedora on her head and pulls it low over her eyes. She shrugs. "What's the point in having nice things? They don't matter in the end."


End file.
